No Return
by TalulaJones
Summary: Title: No Return Synopsis: After five years of traversing the earth with Klaus, Bonnie is now on the run from the hybrid. Klonnie/Bamon. A/N: This story is the sequel to 'Till We Meet Again' - RE-UP
1. Chapter 1

Title: No Return

Synopsis: After five years of traversing the earth with Klaus, Bonnie is now on the run from the hybrid. Klonnie/Bamon.

A/N: This story is the sequel to 'Till We Meet Again'.

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"Nel nome del Padre, del Figlio, e dello Spirito Santo"

**(In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit)**

The young witch uses her teeth to pull the black leather glove from her fingers and makes the sign of the cross with her unsheathed hand. She inhales in the stale old wood of the confessional, while she gathers her thoughts. Leaning toward the purple velvet curtain that separates her from the Priest, she says, "Possiamo parlare in inglese?"

"Yes, signora."

Sighing heavily, she regret telling her driver to circle the block so she could visit the cathedral. When she had escaped the hotel, stopping by a church to confess her sins was not on her list of things to do, but when she looked up at the picturesque cathedral bathed in snow, it seemed so imperative, as if all the moments of her life had led to this moment of sitting in a confessional, searching for how to tell the truth.

She collects her sins in a neat list for her to tick off to the man behind the curtain, thinking what could he do with her truth? She is not a Catholic. She isn't even a Christian. She ponders telling the priest this is a mistake, but she has made so much progress in the span of three years and there was a reason she was inside a church. There had been a reason for everything. She sticks her nervous hands under her thighs and the following words come from her painted lips.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned. I am a murderer, a liar, an adulterer. I have lived a life so far removed from anything good, and, I don't want to be this woman anymore, because I know what it's like to love again father, and because of love, I understand, it always requires sacrifice."

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The first class flight from Milan to Dakar has been uneventful and Bonnie is grateful. As soon as the flight attendant had started to explain the breathing masks and exits, Bonnie had shut out the sun, made her flight mate chuckle, because she said she had a bad habit of turning talkers into toads and she had reclined her seat back, wearing a satin sleep mask and napped for the five hours they sailed the air.

Running from your husband is tiring.

"_Thank you for flying Italia Air." _

Bonnie follows the single file line off the aircraft, carrying a nondescript black carry-all and walks purposefully to the nearest women's restroom. She has to change. Her current outfit is useless in Senegal.

The bathroom is packed. Toilets flushing in sync, faucets gushing and stopping, and hand blowers making the bathroom balmier than it already is. In the dirty stall, she drops her bag on the floor, and quickly changes out of her designer clothes, trading up for a thin cotton blue dress, flat leather sandals and swiftly twisting her hair up into a knot off of her neck.

In a hurry, she has missed the purplish marks on her arms and décolletage, and is surprised when she catches a glimpse of them when she sees her reflection in a mirrored wall along the path to the passenger pick up.

There will be questions.

Why did she have bruises?

She will have to explain they were marks of passion and then there will be more questions.

Even though she is disappointed in herself for not doing the necessary body check and cover-up, the smile she has doesn't leave her face.

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A dark-skinned man, dressed in faded blue jeans and a bright yellow t-shirt is standing outside the double sliding doors; he is glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, and is waving his long arm in the air above the crowd for her to notice him. She spots him and he quickly points to a handmade card-board sign in his other hand.

_BENNETT_

She shakes her head and the man briskly sidesteps the other people waiting for their passengers to wrap his arms around Bonnie into a bear hug and lift her off the ground. "You know, showing up with a sign with my last name defeats the purpose of hiding out here," She says between laughing and hugging her friend.

"Then let us hurry," He says, taking the bag from her shoulder and intertwining her fingers with his and pulling her through the horde to the packed open-air parking lot.

The air of Dakar is warm. Dense. Thick with the bustle of the future and the ancient markets of the streets, and she feels at home as she places a hand over the cloth at her mouth, protecting herself form the arid wind that blows red dust over all of Dakar.

Ibrahim turns the key into the passenger door of is 89' gray Toyota Corolla and the rusted door creaks as it opens, "Madame," He says nodding for her to slide in.

"When all of this is done, I'm buying you a car, Ibrahim," She says playfully, rolling down her window.

"Why do I need a new car when this one works just fine, "He says, patting the dashboard.

"You got a thing for cars older than you, I think this one might be newer though" She says, inspecting the worn cloth of the backseat, "What was that thing you were driving in Paris?"

He makes a face like he has to think long and hard, "Yugo."

"See that's what I mean, I don't even know what a Yugo is," She says rolling her eyes, but it is all in jest; she could care less about what kind of car he drove. Making such comments has become common between them because Ibrahim has helped to save her, and she wants to repay him with what she has readily available to give in abundance. Money. Even though it meant little to her and absolutely nothing to Ibrahim, it makes her feel good to provide until she is in a good place to be the friend he has been to her.

It is because of her he is in Senegal, if she had not made that fated phone call to him early one summer morning then he would surely be in the bowels of the Sorbonne, blowing his mind over some rare esoteric texts about cosmology and divine inspired thought, but instead, he is picking her up from the airport and taking her back to the house they share near his village in Tukur, a remote place, nestled deep in the forest, and two hours away from a working telephone.

When people wanted to know who he was to her, and certain people really wanted to know, she would simply find herself saying, "My brother,'. She has never had a brother and does not have a point of reference for brotherly behavior, but when she is in the company of the kind soul next to her in the old Toyota, she can only think this is my family.

The loud city streets morph into quiet country side and Bonnie rests her arm over the open window, tapping her fingers on the metal along with the music he is playing.

"You are happy," He remarks.

Is that what you call it, she thinks. Happy?

The sun is everywhere there, there is no escaping him, and Bonnie squints as she looks out the windshield at the zooming trucks and colorfully adorned bodies trekking from their village to the neighboring town. She pulls down the red cloth from her mouth, "I went to church today and confessed my _sins_," She says, drawing out the last word because she think Ibrahim will definitely get a kick out of her using it.

He flips down his sun visor, out of habit and makes a hand gesture at an overstuffed bus that has stopped longer than what he thinks is necessary for the five people to get off, "Why?"

It was the million dollar question.

She scrunches her brow and bites the corner of her mouth, "I wanted to tell a stranger, get it off my chest and see how much of a monster I am when it's all out there."

Ibrahim flashes his straight gleaming teeth and pats Bonnie's slender hand, "You are on a journey, Bonnie, and it is one that never ends. Do not forget that."

The car is stopped so a herder can steer his goats across the dirt road and Ibrahim looks over at her and she knows the questions are coming.

"That's not why you are so happy, tell me why you are happy."

"Damon. I saw him. "She whispers, putting up the cloth again, like it can protect her not only from dust but from friendly judgment. Saying his name reminds her of how swollen her lips still are from kissing him, till she couldn't breathe and had to pry herself from his embrace. He loved her he said, and as she sits in a hot car in western Africa, she doesn't know what to do with his love.

She didn't tell him she loved him back. She didn't even tell him that there had been a time she was in love with him.

"You are determined to get yourself killed," her friend says, reminding her that that was a very real possibility.

She throws up her hands, "It wasn't intentional, I ran into him, also, I forget you have the memory of an elephant, I told you, what, like once over four years ago and you remember him."

"I knew he would be significant in your recovery," Ibrahim gloats and she hides her embarrassed smile in the scarf.

"And Klaus?"

The trees lining the roads became greener, abundant and seem to drape over the road to greet the trees on the other side. Soon there will be monkeys, with their golden green fur, swinging from the low branches and Bonnie is excited to see them after being gone for three weeks.

Barcelona. New Orleans. Nice. Milan.

There have been many such trips over the course of the eight months she has lived in Senegal. She had to take frequent trips away to throw him off her scent, to keep him from figuring out where her true home was, but the last trip was to lure him to her base.

Finally, no more running.

"Probably en route to Positano, I booked a hotel there under my name to give me a few hours to get out the country," She says, caught in a specific memory of the hybrid, one where she wore a white dress and he whispered in her ear that forever was a promise while a compelled officiant told them they were to be man and wife.

Ibrahim laughs, "Do you think he will come?"

Bonnie looks down at her hand and the missing gaudy sapphire she had left at the front desk at the Milan hotel. _"When my husband comes to take care of the bill, please give him this."_ The balding clerk wrapped the ring in a soft cloth and had her sign a roster for valuable items checked at the hotel.

The ring would spark something in her husband, it would bring up their past, an adventurous stay in Sri-Lanka, where time stood still; days running into each other where all they did was make love, and him presenting her with a clear, remarkably cut sapphire. He had slipped the heavy ring on her finger while telling her a story of how Solomon had owned one exactly like it, and it had been a magical ring, granting the Hebrew king divine powers, and the King had worn it faithfully until he met the beautiful Sheba and had given it to her as an eternal symbol of his affection.

When she had disappeared from New Orleans that summer, she had left the ring he had given her on his dresser.

She folds her hands in her lap, "He'll be here and I'll be ready."

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"How's Fatou? Awa?" She asks, already grinning because he has turned down the long winding curve that will lead them up the hill to their home, a colonial relic left-over from the French. The home sprawled over an acre and is the color of a soft pink petal, and dark vines, as thick as ropes, have grown over the walls and have damaged the structure and roof of the home, but Bonnie loves it, she tells Ibrahim that nature has taken back what is hers.

"Awa went to the market before I picked you up, she should be here soon, and Fatou is in the village, she says she will meet you at the river at sunset," He gives the whereabouts of his mother and grandmother to Bonnie because his family has become hers.

She's out the car before he can properly park the vehicle, taking the steps up to the door, two at a time, and knocks on the screened door, and a long and lean woman, wearing a snug white-shirt and matching long skirt appears into the hall. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she greets Bonnie. "You are here. Good."

Bonnie's smile slips for a moment as she looks down the dark hallway. The house is too quiet. "What's wrong, Amina?"

"You will see in your room, "Amina says, her high cheekbones moving with each word.

She strides down the hallway, swiftly passing up the other bedroom doors until she is at the end of the hall, and she flings the door open and sees her bedroom is neat and in place and the mosquito-net is down and drawn over her canopy. She nears her bed and closes in on the sleeping figure, resting peacefully in the middle of her mattress.

Amina is leaning in the doorway, "I told him he could not sleep in here. He would not listen," She chastises, sternly.

Bonnie lingers over him, trying not to stir him, but after being apart from him for so long, she can't help caressing his cheek and his clear blue eyes open to her.

She quickly kisses his forehead and smiles, "Mama's home."

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When you are trying to overcome an addiction, consciously tapping into every ounce of effort each day to not throw away all your progress, you eventually come around to this peculiar state. You start to feel strong, and sober and even happy, like you are living under a sweet pink cloud of relief and then there is this passing thought where you actually believe you might be cured.

It's a lie.

You are still an addict.

But there is a program to cope with your lifelong illness, a plan you can follow and repeat over and over until they bury your bones, an action-step program developed by some psychologist, at some date, somewhere, all designed to help you help yourself.

_First step in your getting your life back: You admit that you have a problem and cannot control your addiction._

An instant connection is what most mothers' gush, when they describe meeting their children for the first time, after the doctor hands them a blob of flesh, wrinkly and screaming and covered in their mucus and blood. When Gabriel was placed on Bonnie's sweaty chest, he was no different; he reminded her of those comic pictures of aliens, his bald head too big, his fingers and toes too small, but he didn't scream, which unnerved the doctor who checked his vitals twice before presenting him. She had never held a baby before, and she was positive she wasn't cradling him the correct way like the diagram had shown in her baby book. She stared at the amorphous sack of skin on her chest, prodding the supple flesh of his back, and he opened his eyes. They were bright blue, like the blue marbles her grams used to fill in vases with fake flowers instead of water; and his wonky blue pupils had darted about, overwhelmed by their first glance of the world, until she unglued him from her chest and held him up with two hands, and his wobbly eyes stopped rolling and focused on her. Bonnie swears to this day that he smiled at her, like he understood who she was. And she shuddered, ready for somebody to take the creature away from her. It was the first time she felt fear in over two years and it was just enough to pierce through the haze of her addiction, to shine a light the circumference of a needle into her heart. She had felt as if she had woke up from a coma. Like sleeping beauty, she had asked the doctor and nurse who moved around her bedroom packing away machines and instruments, what day was it and who was the president. She remembered how they laughed, and a champagne bottle was popped, that delicious sound of celebration, and Klaus's hand grabbing hers and him kissing her behind the earlobe and smiling in the crook of her neck and mouthing on her skin, "He's magnificent, love. We've created a masterpiece."

"A masterpiece, " She had repeated numbly after Klaus, soaking up the angelic energy from where the wrinkled body lain in her lap, wondering how could she and Klaus produce something good.

_Second: You recognize a power outside of yourself can give you strength, restore your sanity._

"Mama!" Gabriel shrieks, his creamy face, the color of sand, mirroring her delighted expression. He rocks from side to side, trying to rise on the soft mattress, until he is able to steady himself on his small fists and scoot across the bed to Bonnie, and open his arms for a hug.

"Hey Baby," She says, swinging him up into her arms, rubbing her nose against his hot cheek. She plops down on the bed, him in her lap, admiring how beautiful he really is, from his thick, honey brown curls, and his mouth shape, like the bow of an angel named cupid, and his heart-shaped face, perfect for cupping in her palm, and those big round eyes of his - the exact shade of his Father's - filled with a sense of peace, her husband nor her, have ever possessed.

Months after her labor, the blob had developed into a human-like shape, torso, legs and arms, and he could babble, find his nose and pull the socks off his feet, then he learned to crawl, clap his hands and laugh, and then he grew some more, and little by little the creature captured her affection, till one day, miraculously not yearning for a fix, and feeling particularly close to him, she finally named him.

Gabriel.

Bonnie's drug of choice? Magic. Expression to be precise, it consumed her, but like with most drugs, it wasn't the actual magic that had robbed her soul, it was the high she received from it; it was the absolute power that corrupted her.

She had defied the balance of nature, and after the nightmares, it got easier and easier, to the point where she didn't notice the strung up bodies draining in the basement, or hear the harrowing screams from burning witches on her lawn.

Oh but when she woke up from that, when she realized what she had done, then she had wished she too were on a meat hook with feet dangling over a grate so her blood could run out and drip into crystal punch bowls, or had tied herself to a tree right along with the other witches and screamed from her face melting off.

She was beyond redeem.

And she thought about ending it all, thought the world would be a better place without her in it, and she contemplated the best way to do it. An asp to the heart? Or, send a message by slitting her wrists the correct way. All of these were fine options, she thought, until her son needed her to hold his hand while he took his first steps, then she realized that she couldn't check out.

"Did you listen to Amina?" She asks him, furrowing her brow like she's serious and his sweet face becomes somber beyond his years and he bobs his head emphatically.

Amina can't be still, so she is wiping off Bonnie's chest of drawers with the dish towel she has in her hand, "He is a good baby, but he refuses to sleep in his own room, he wants to be in mama's room," She smiles, shaking her head at the loving pair.

"No go, Mama," he says in his child's voice.

Bonnie swiftly dips him onto the bed and blows raspberries against his tummy, making him giggle and yelp for her to stop.

And between both of their peals of laughter, she says, "Soon, mama won't have to leave anymore."


	2. Chapter 2

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"Time now," Fatou says in her broken english. Her white head wrap gleams in the moonlight as she wades into the middle of the predator infested river.

Fatou is braver than Bonnie, she has a connection to this land that Bonnie is only beginning to feel in her months living there. The alligators and snakes don't scare Fatou, she is merely conscious that life swarms around her and that this is their home.

"I ask them if we visit."

Bonnie nods and undresses without shame, balling up her cotton dress on top of her sandals. Clad in just a bra and panties, she crosses her arms and feels the mud slide under her feet and squish between her toes as she breaks through the warm water to where Fatou stood with the water at her waist.

Fatou smiles as Bonnie tries to imitate her bravery and swims over to her, "We no wait for baby birthday for the washing? Four days for the day of birth." She reminds Bonnie.

"We won't have time on his birthday, Fatou. And if Klaus doesn't show up then it'll be me who has to go and we won't have this moon to bless me."

"You follow baby with the spirit guides, moon or no moon."

Bonnie smiles wide, showing all teeth and relaxes, "I know, but I don't want to waste the full moon."

Fatou's gnarled hand entwines with Bonnie and she tells the young woman to lean back onto her arm. And she begins to chant in the sing-gong Seerer language, asking the sleeping River Gods to remember Bonnie on the other side.

And with her gnarled hand she dips Bonnie back into the water, baptizing her.

Bonnie's nostrils and ears fill immediately with liquid and she sees a watery, wavering Fatou under the ripple of water before she closes her eyes saying a prayer of her own.

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"_I'm pregnant." _

He was reading, sprawled naked on the bed. The book was one he had read a million times but it was his favorite, he was a lover of revenge, and he claimed that there was no book embodying a better staged plot of revenge than **The Count of Monte Cristo.**

She remembered how he put the book down, and her concentrating on the worn book cover, thinking she would have the book rebound for him.

"I have been waiting for you to tell me."

She had only seen Klaus smile the way he smiled at her upon hearing about becoming a father a handful of times.

There was the time she took him up on the offer on leaving Mystic Falls behind.

The time she decimated a coven of Paris witches and pledged her allegiance to him.

And the time she said yes to his proposal to be his lover for all eternity.

Annoyed, she had crawled across the bed and moved the book aside to rest under the weight of him. "You knew before I did and you weren't even going to tell me."

"I heard his heartbeat a month ago, Bonnie."

She had laughed at his assumption that he knew the sex of the child before an ultrasound.

"Mark my words, love. You are carrying a son, and he will be a King. Just like his father," Klaus informed her with a smile before wrapping her hair around his fist and kissing her.

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They were in the middle of a war. A hostile take-over of her husband's beloved city.

New Orleans was teeming with supernaturals and run amok by devious and degenerate humans, and ripe for a royalty of the likes of Klaus and herself.

She had fallen in love with the crescent city and its deep rooted culture the day she and Klaus landed from overseas.

Of course there were the few who felt differently about the arrival of she and Klaus, some left-handed workers who saw the beautiful pair reveling in their debauchery and thought having the hybrid and his Bennett witch in their hometown was the coming of the end.

The pregnancy was meant to be a curse.

Bonnie knew this because it was impossible for her to become pregnant without some fool magic, and lord knows she hadn't spelled to carry Klaus's seed.

And Bonnie certainly felt she was cursed.

She had believed there wasn't a woman dead or alive who was had been more disappointed about carrying a child than her.

She sought every grimoire for a solution but with dark magic and Hybrid blood swimming in her veins, the baby had took hold of her life force and was pulling on her energy every day, growing stronger to fend for itself.

The creature was not going to slip away gently.

So she planted Oleander.

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"I was thinking Jr." Klaus said to her across the decorated breakfast table, sipping blood elegantly from waterford crystal and thumbing through the New Orleans Picayne.

"Jr for what?" She had asked him. She buttered her toast and thought of how she was going to go see Mama Miriam and try to convince her once again that she and Klaus would protect her and let her live if she told the Uptown witches to retract the curse.

The last time Bonnie saw the voodoo priestess, she had smugly informed her they couldn't take back life, it was out of their hand of magic.

"_You tell those witches that they think I can't practice expression because this thing is using up too much of my energy, but it won't be there for long and when its gone they will wish they never fucked with me."_

Despite Bonnie's threat, the witch wished her a good day.

"Jr for our son, Bonnie. What do you think of Niklaus Mikaelson Jr?

She had bit into her toast and told him she hated it.

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The fragrant perfume of Oleander filled every nook and cranny of their sprawling home.

Bonnie even took pains of sealing the glass solarium but it didn't stop the scent from permeating every square inch of the creole mansion.

Klaus didn't ask questions, only commented that the home smelled lovely with the heady perfume of Oleander, and that she think about planting magnolias instead next as they were just as fragrant and didn't carry the threat of killing anyone who consumed it.

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"He's strong," Klaus said to her with his ear pressed on her rounded bump of a belly.

Exasperated, she pushed his head from her stomach and rose to go take a bath. Her feet were beginning to hurt and the thought of standing for a shower was too much to bear.

"I know he's strong. I can't even do a simple spell with him in me. And the uptown witches and vampires are working together now to get rid of us, and we got the entire New Orleans police department on us. How can I protect us if I can't even light the damn candles in this bedroom?"

Klaus followed her into the bathroom and kissed her forehead, "I protect us, you and the baby are my priority. Nothing is lost, love. I am still procuring the city for you as its Queen and for Jr as its little prince."

"You're saying you don't need my help?" She said, frustrated, turning the knobs to the garden tub.

"This may not have crossed your mind, but I have survived and thrived for over a thousand years without you, surely you can have faith that I can take down a city without you lifting a hand."

"You said we were a team."

"We are, but when one part of the team is down then the plan must carry on without the partner."

He had taken off his shirt to join her in her bath but she told him to get out. She didn't want to see his face for the rest of the night.

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He had stayed away for a week.

She didn't bother looking for him, instead she tended to her oleanders and waited.

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The flowers were at full bloom when he returned.

Before his boisterous arrival, she had cut the white flowers and steeped them into boiling water to brew a tea.

He had found her in the kitchen and asked her if she intended on killing their child.

She didn't know why she was surprised, Klaus had always been forthright and blunt with her, of course he would have asked her exactly what she was doing.

They stood mere feet from one another, and she answered honestly even though she thought he may kill her instead.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I'm scared."

She was terrified actually. She didn't know how to be a mother. She had lost whatever maternal instinct she had in Mystic Falls, she had left there in search of the powerful Bonnie she had become at Klaus's side.

There was no way she would go back to that weak hearted girl.

His startling blue eyes honed in on her, flickering yellow then back to blue, "I'm not going to lie to you love, I am elated at having progeny, but if it comes to your happiness or its life, then I will kill it myself.

And with that he overturned the boiling pot of oleander tea into the kitchen drain.

BKBKBKBKBKB

Later that evening they made love. Passionately entangled their limbs and mouths on to one another.

He had whispered to her that her belly reminded him of the moon and told her not to forget how their was magic in the moon, and that eventually she would unleash the block to its power within her.

She disregarded his talk as a sweet nothing until she stumbled across an obeah book in their library and cast a spell to pull from the creature's energy.

It turned out that the thing living inside of her had become stronger than the likes of its parents.

BKBKBKBKB

"Air not right. Something gone wrong," Fatou warns, already walking down the trail with her aged stick.

Bonnie tries to quickly follow behind her with the cotton clinging to her wet body, "I feel it too," She says wondering if it was the River Gods turning down her offer to join them when the time comes.

But the back of her neck prickles and she has that familiar drop in her stomach that at one time, not that long ago, she had affiliated with a longing, but now it only triggers her fear.

"Home, Fatou NOW!" She yells as she runs, speaking words of protection for the old woman to make it safely to her home as she sprints through the clearing to her house. Her sure feet pick up sticky bloody leaves each time they hit the ground as she nears her home. Her thighs and calves burn as they pump up and down, and her breath is labored but she doesn't pause, she prays that she is wrong, that her instincts are off.

But she spots body parts. Scattered limbs dropped like markers one would leave for someone to follow them to their destination.

He left them for her.

Hot tears blur her vision momentarily as she tells herself those bodies don't belong to the ones she loves.

_Not Awa, Not Amina, Not Ibrahim. _

She falls to her knees when she halts abruptly from the sight on her front porch.

_Not Gabby_.

Backdropped by the flood of warm light coming from the gas lamps in the open windows, there was Klaus, drenched in blood from head to toe, gently rocking on a wooden rocker, with Gabriel screaming on his lap.

_Lord, grant me the strength to obliterate him._

She climbs from her smarting knees, limping, with a hop and a drag of her feet over to the porch and tells him she will do anything if he will just give her the baby.

And Klaus kisses the baby forehead, leaving a bloody imprint of his mouth and smiles wide at Bonnie whose heart is cutting off air in her throat.

"No need to cry, Gabriel. She's here now. Tell your mama we've been waiting for her."

Author's Note

This story is going to be quick and dirty. Quick short updates to move the story along. For those who are still questioning who is the Baby Daddy, I hope this chapter clears up that Klaus is the father. Thank you all for showing my work love, I appreciate it.

This story is the sequel to "Till We Meet Again." I will show glimpses of what Bonnie became after she left Mystic Falls and her life with Klaus.


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